Lord Lytton

Alas! must it ever be so?
Do we stand in our own light, wherever we go,
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Alas! must it ever be so?
Do we stand in our own light, wherever we go,
And fight our own shadows forever?

We are but as the instrument of Heaven.
Our work is not design, but destiny.

We are but as the instrument of Heaven.
Our work is not design, but destiny.

Through tall cowslips nodding near you,
Just to touch you as you pass.

Through tall cowslips nodding near you,
Just to touch you as you pass.

Here's a health to the glow-worm, Death's sober lamplighter.

Here's a health to the glow-worm, Death's sober lamplighter.

It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet,
It made me creep and it made me cold.
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It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet,
It made me creep and it made me cold.
Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet
Where a mummy is half unroll'd.